Will The Real Prince Arthur Please Stand Up?
by SchmergTheImpaled
Summary: In the year 2034, Merlin thinks he's serving the resurrected Prince Arthur, only for another 'pretender to the throne' to turn up. Who will Merlin choose? What is this 'destiny' thing anyway? Will King William kindly stop riding around on a skateboard? Why is this story so freakin' weird? What is the plot against England that the dragon keeps bringing up? Silly crackfic.


Freakin' Merlin Sequel

Of course it would happen like that. After hundreds of years, I was finally having that dream about eating a cheese that tasted of apple pie, only to be rudely interrupted.

"MERRRRLIIIIN…" A thin, raspy voice invaded my dream. It sounded like the ghost of a duke that had moonlighted as a drag queen before choking to death on a tin can. I only knew two people who fit that description, and one of them wasn't a person at all…

"Meeeerrrrllliiiinnn…"

"Impossible," I whispered, sitting upright in bed to the vocal displeasure of my joints. That stupid dragon was already dying when I last saw him at Avalon. No way he'd be alive in the year 2013. Then again, what were the odds that I'd be alive, either?

I brushed my beard off of my knees and creaked to my feet. The worst thing about being alive for hundreds of years was being old for hundreds of years. Often, I'd use some kind of youth spell and walk around looking like my younger self. It gave me energy, at least. But seeing that face in the mirror was sometimes too weird to handle—there was an innocence there that just didn't feel right. At times, it was a relief to look like the old man I was, although if I looked as old as I really was, I'd just be a handsome little pile of dust.

I pointed across the room at a box of Count Chocula and dumped it into a bowl. Then came the milk. Being the greatest sorcerer in the history of the world came with a few perks. I never did figure out anything to do about those ears, though.

"Meeeerrrrlllllllinnnnn," the boice called out again, and I flinched, spilling Count Chocula all over the floor. I waved my hand, vanishing the mess, and sat heavily in a chair. It wasn't just a dream—it never was, who did I think I was fooling? And I could tell, faintly, where it was coming from.

Eurgh, taking the Tube to South Kensington was a struggle on the best of days, worst of all when all the paparazzi and whatnot were swarming around the area. The Royal family had moved into Kensington Palace the previous day, and everyone thought they could creep n the new baby. Get a life already, I wanted to yell at them, princes are nothing to get excited about.

At least people would probably offer an old man a seat on the train. Maybe even two seats if he looked like a crazy homeless man, a natural talent of mine. I put on my blue puffy vest and stepped out into the sunlight. Time to chase a dragon.

"Meeeerrrllliiiiin…"

"Look, this game of tag has gone on long enough," I thought angrily. "Can't I just summon you with my Dragonlord Parseltongue or whatever?"

"Well, I'm afraid that's… not possible," the dragon wheezed. "I'm unfortunately stuck to the spot."

"You mean someone's chained you up again?"

The dragon's voice made a hnnnmmmmnnmllhnnhngh noise. "Er, not as such. Follow my voice. I will see you… sooon."

That stupid dragon had always been one for theatrics, and now he had me wandering about like a madman—which I basically was. What else do you call someone chasing the disembodied voice of a long-dead mythical creature? Even I became sceptical of my own sanity when I found myself wandering into the Natural History Museum of all places.

"Oh, no…" I muttered as I spied the queue outside the Blue Zone.

"Oh yes," the Great Dragon said grimly.

His skeleton was now the centrepiece of the Hall of Dinosaurs. He grinned skinlessly at me through a sea of snotty kids on field trips and tourists toting cameras.

"This is so not right."

"On the contrary, old friend. I have awakened from my slumber for a reason."

I squinted at the faint orange glow emanating from his eye sockets. "Yeah, I hope I can say the same for myself, Big K."

He let out his garbage-disposal laugh. This was all just in my head, right? Nobody else could hear this? "Patience, young warlock."

"Young warlock? Me? Come on."

"Younger than myself."

"And nobody else. I've got to be the oldest thing on this planet that's still got skin on—no offense. So, what's so important that it's brought life back into your desiccated bones, which, I might add, is probably the scariest thing I can imagine happening to anyone ever?"

I could have sworn I saw the skull blink. "I might ask, what's kept you alive for so long?"

"You know, waiting for Arthur," I sighed. "Cabbage-head always did like to sleep late." Something in my stomach lurched, possibly the Count Chocula from earlier. "Wait, are you saying that Arthur's… coming back? Now?"

"I can feel it in my bones," declared Kilgarrah.

"Well, that's good, because you have nothing else to feel it in," I said weakly. All of this time… I never imagined it would take so long for Arthur to return. And nobody ever told me how long I'd live. By the time my real face looked the same as my Dragoon the Great disguise, I just figured Arthur wouldn't be coming back in my lifetime and waited calmly for my end to come. And waited. And waited… and watched as everyone I ever knew died, everything around me changed and I never did. When Albion's need is greatest… seemed to me like England had been in some pretty rough spots in the past ten centuries, and Arthur never felt the need to pop by and give us a hand. I hadn't sensed any imminent danger lurking on the horizon anytime lately… so what was it that prompted him back _now_?

"Excuse me, sir, you'll need to move along through the exhibit now," a museum guard said in a dull, nasal voice. "There's a queue behind you. Children want to see the dinosaurs."

I shipped around. "You going to rush an old man? I might have a heart attack if I don't stop and rest! I could sue the museum and bankrupt it and then nobody would get to see the dinosaurs! Tell the children to respect their elders!"

The museum guard swayed in a seasick sort of way. "Yes, sir," he mumbled and oozed away.

I looked back at the dragon. "Sorry about that." The best thing about being about Dragoon the Great was always the amount of sass I felt entitled to. If I tried that wearing my little pretty-boy face, I'd probably get punched right in the middle of it. "But if Arthur's coming back—what am I supposed to do?"

"What have you been doing all this while?" Unhelpful as always, that one.

"I keep myself busy." When it seemed that Arthur wouldn't return anytime soon, I busied myself with a few projects here and there. I wasn't sure how much time I'd have, but I kept my head filled with ideas—tried out some experimental magic, came up with a bunch of great new spells, helped start a school for young wizards and witches up in Scotland (I asked them to keep my name off of it, and they did, but word still got out about my involvement), accidentally spread the Bubonic Plague to England, did some ghostwriting for a celebrity author from Stratford-Upon-Avon who shall remain unnamed here, travelled the world, fought vampires during the French Revolution, abolished slavery in America, got drunk with the Beatles… I could go on, but my name speaks for itself. History, literature, legend, and art, well, they're all riddled with me. The wizard with the long white beard—sometimes a boy—sometimes good, sometimes evil, always brilliant, not always sane. He ages backward, some people said of me, and though that wasn't quite right, I could understand the confusion.

Most of the stories involved Arthur in some way—most, but not all. I was making my own reputation now. And after so long… yes, of course I wanted Arthur back, more than anything else. But waiting for him wasn't my whole life anymore. Could I really just go back to being his chipper little servant? That mask hadn't even fit well in the old days.

"Arthur's work is unfinished." The dragon's voice cut through my thoughts like a rusty knife through something that shouldn't be eaten after coming into contact with all that rust. "He was a good king, even great, but he has yet to achieve his destiny: that of the greatest ruler ever known. Arthur united the kingdoms, he abolished Uther's tyrannical laws, he gave people something to fight for. But he left this world too soon—too soon to see how essential magic is in governing a nation. For that, he needs you. You have done well, young warlock, in prepaing the way for him—the old religion is forgotten, but myths and stories of magic survive through you. Most don't believe in magic, but few fear it now—man think of it with wnder and admiration. When Arthur returns, he will understand. And together you must bring about a new Camelot, or England will fall."

Nobody could hear words like that and stay calm, not even a sorcerer of my calibre. "But how am I even supposed to find Arth—"

"We were waiting for Prince Arthur outside the palace, but they must have whisked him through a side door or something, because we never caught a glimpse of him," I heard a loud female voice complain behind me. I turned around slowly.

"Yeah," agreed another. "I don't know why Prince William's being so lame about people taking pictures of his baby. He has to understand that people want to see the future king."

Prince Arthur. Of course. "Merlin, you idiot," I said out loud in a voice that sounded suspiciously like an old friend of mine The royal baby—his name was Arthur. The once and future king, reborn… and all I had to do was be with him from the start, mold him the way destiny required.

Well, the royal brat could use a nanny, couldn't he?


End file.
